If Just For One Night
by Closed-Off-Vermillion
Summary: Two Gunslingers. One Bar. [Redux of 'Things aren't that simple']


**A/N: Alright. So,I wrote the original fic "Things aren't that simple" back when I was in middle school and less than stellar with grammar and characterization. Now I've decided to rewrite/revise the story. Here's the result, and I** _ **do**_ **hope you all enjoy the read.~**

Vash The Stampede.

If asked about him, Wolfwood would just complain. He'd rant til his lungs were spent and until he was blue in the face. On rare occasion, he'd be honest; Tell that person just how good of a man his unofficial companion was. The priest was a bit of a con, but with omissions came a hint of the truth, and that's how he did it. He wasn't too much of a man to fool, nor was he much of a man to be fooled with.

It's why he could so easily call the man on his bluffs. There were certain things that he knew about faking it; After all, he'd done it himself at a point in time. The kind of people who did this sort of thing knew the signs, and the Gunslinger was short of an open book. Guarded, but an open book. On one hand: Vash was the kind of man with sad eyes and a large smile to distract from it. On the other hand…

He was the kind of man to dance on stage, albeit obnoxiously. But with the charm and charisma he imposed upon himself? The fucker could make anything look good.  
Like right now. The blond was up on the stage, making a fool out of himself and garnering the attention of people who could… Appreciate the art. It'd take a fool not to notice the leather get-up and let the imagination wander a bit.

Nicholas reached into his pockets, shaking his head at the display. Finding a lack of smokes, he cursed quietly beneath his breath. The priest leaned back in his chair, sullen over the loss of his object of habit. Smokes calmed his nerves, gave him something to focus on other than the rampant feelings beneath the collected surface of his unshakable demeanor. With his cig to light, he could at least tear his eyes from the form of the wayward gunman. There weren't enough cold showers on gunsmoke to relieve _that_ tension.

He didn't know how Vash could take the wolf-whistles and attention directed at him without comment. The hands inching closer to the gunman's assets (yes, we're using that word.) was enough. Wolfwood wasn't the voyeuristic type of guy, nor was he one to stand by when a case of the customers getting frisky went to the _wrong_ kind of performer. The fucking idiot was the kind of person to tease and then act all innocent when the time came. It pissed Wolfwood off to no end, and the man took that as a personal challenge. Vash the Stampede could be a smug bastard when he wanted to be, and the supposed drunken state he was in left him without inhibition.

Just as he stood up, the gunslinger came to him and raised his arm, palm outstretched.

"Dance with me, _Nick_." That one was a doozy. For lack of better word, the priest began to have an internal crisis. The allure of the offer brought him a shame he couldn't describe. He so desperately _**wanted**_ it. His mind tossed some less than pleasant remarks at him, to the point where he almost wanted to tell himself allowed that he was a real asshole.

Tch, man of the cloth. What a profession for a guy like him.

Arms crossed, he only stares at the man, dumbfound. The smile is on his lips, more meaningful than the forced grins flashed at every passerby. Wolfwood's eyes won't, can't leave the man's face. He's stuck, inside his mind, inside this implied ultimatum. For lack of better word, he was fucked up. Completely and utterly fucked up. It was Vash's fault, _everything_ was the man's damn fault.

Before he could get a word in, Vash's lips are on his. By instinct, the priests hands flew to the man's hips, pushing back against the kiss roughly. If this was how the dumbass wanted to play it, fine. As quickly as his thoughts objected, they were lost to the aggressive embrace of the two gunslingers. With a new figure taking the stage, the attention was lost on Vash. It was a dog-eat dog world, and the concept of expendability applied in shitty bars too. The music didn't matter, nothing around them knocked any sense into this. There was only fervent passion and the clacking of teeth under flashing lights and stale genre-fusion music.

' _You are to_ _ **watch**_ _him, Priest.'_

The reverie snaps him from their moment. Arm looping around the man's waist, he made a move for the door.

"Time to go, Tongari."

"But Wolfwoooood-!" The blond proceeded to flash what could only be described as 'puppy eyes' at the priest, arms hanging limply around the man's shoulders.

"Don't complain. It's a bad color on you." He snarks, aware of the suggestions in his words, but too busy coming off the high to complain.

"Talk about cruel! Hmph! See if I ever lend you a book of matches for your smokes ever again!" Nonsense, it was all nonsense. Something Wolfwood tended not to laugh at. However… Exceptions were made. Chuckling lightly, he shook his head and continued on as they drifted away from the music and lights.

Silence.

"... What were you tryin' to do earlier?" Wolfwood asks, pensive once again.

"Kiss you." The blond replies childishly, but his eyes show that he's unsure if it was the right call. Now that it's come into question.

"Why?"

"... Rem once taught me something. If you lo-like someone, you really like someone. You show 'em you like them."

"You must like me a lot then."

" 'Course I do." Head sagging lightly, Vash quietly leaned into the man without another word, inhaling deeply. It was clear there was a purpose for the deep breath. He was inhaling the man's scent, comforted by the light aftershave and the smooth fabric of the suit jacket.

They continued on in the night, stopping occasionally to stare up at the stars. Milly and Meryl were out for the night, so they didn't have to worry about getting back a little bit after their unspoken curfew. In this town, it was best to stick together. After all, they were all tied to the famed outlaw, and that made everything all the more dangerous.

"Y'know…" The brunet began, lips tugged at the corners.

"Huh?"

"You taste like donuts." The stray remark was rewarded with a light flush on the older man's face. Eyes closed, his grip tightened, before the indignant mask was set once again.

"Where did that come from?!"

"Your mouth, obviously."

"You-! That's not playing fair!"

"Neither's getting me riled up on purpose." Flicking his partner on the head, he lets out a small laugh, joined by the man.

It felt genuine this time.

They finally made it back. Closing the door behind them, Wolfwood lifted the blond onto the bed, unbuttoning his coat and pulling it off. As soon as the priest went to lift himself up, he was tugged back down.

"No."

"I need it."

"Answer's still no. You really think I'm gonna have my way with you while you're drunk as a skunk? I may be a sketchy guy, but that's taking it far." Letting himself be pulled down again, he met his partner with a small kiss.

"It'll feel better when you've got your head on straight." As harsh as the words were in nature, they came across more gently than many thought the jaded priest was capable of.

Pulling away from the bed, he tucked the man beneath the covers before going to change for the night and sliding into the bed beside Vash. He knew what was beneath the bodysuit the blond insisted on wearing. It was out of respect that he let it be unless his friend wanted it off himself, a decision he could come to on his own.

It all just served to remind Wolfwood of the sad, evident fact that Vash reminded him of everything he hated about himself. His inability to carry on, to keep his head above the water. How he took lives instead of saving them. Vash had a habit of walking into the middle of chaos and solving it with his own brand of chaos. It worked, it fucking worked and no one knew how. Not even the man who had the outlaw figured out more than others. Even as the guilt ate away at the last of his resolve, the idiot wouldn't stay down. He couldn't stay _down_.

There was so much he wanted to do for the man, so much he felt he couldn't do. He had a mission and like all missions, he had to see it through. The empty smile told it all, and slowly broke the priest's heart piece by piece. There was a lot he didn't know, and a lot he could never come to understand in this life. That's what made it harder.

Running a hand through his hair, Nicholas turned from the mirror, making his way back to their shared soon as he slides into bed, he's met with the man shuffling closer, wrapping his arms around him in a protective embrace.

"Wolfwood?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. For everything."

"Always."

If only. If only there wasn't something in the distance, something that would come for them all. This could be so much easier, there could be so much more. They could take comfort in one another, the trust could be built, the word 'like' would no longer serve as a cover-up. Hesitance wouldn't have a place between them. If only.

It's a shame,

Things aren't that simple.


End file.
